One year

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So, yeah, Ingrid is a year. And that means I’ve earned my Breastfeeding Merit Badge, as she’s been nursing just as long, and still is, with no plans wean on this end, at this time.

Breastfeeding is weird, you know? It’s so political and emotionally charged and all this …. stuff, and one always has to disclaim it, "happy mama=happy baby," etc, and I truly believe that. But in all of the political correctness, I feel a little shy about admitting that… I’m really proud of myself. Not just my self, but my body. It’s the first thing it really did right, it feels like, and it has done it SO right.  I never felt conflicted about nursing, i always knew I wanted to, and even nursing in public… I was nervous the first few times, but then it became almost a source of pride, like "HELL YEAH, I’m feeding my baby the ol’ fashioned way! What of it?"  When I worked, I pumped, and while she never needed much of the pumped stuff and did a bit of reverse cycling, but… it worked. it worked! that’s so amazing to me. Insert disclaimer here, but hot damn, I am really proud to have hit that milestone.

I’m sure people will start asking or wondering or maybe making comments like "if they’re old enough to ASK…" (which, as another internet friend mentioned, "she’s been asking all along" and I’d add a ",dumbass" to that) and I plan to just smile n’ nod and say "there are lots of benefits to toddler nursing…" or something. Anyway. Go me & my boobs.

12 months

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Dear Ingrid,

Unbelievably, you are one year old today. I spent the last few days looking at the clock and remembering specifics of your entry to the world, remembering eating at Wendy’s with your dad, watching The Amazing Race, getting put off for induction on the 18th, over and over again. Today, I looked at the clock and did it more often… 5:45, wasn’t that about when we went to the labor room? And around 7, I think that’s when we called Amy. At 1:30, I’m pretty sure that everyone in our room was napping around then, 4:30, pushing alone with Aunt Amy and your Dad, 5:23… 5:23, when you were officially, definitely one year old. Now, as I write this, at almost 8, I think I was settled in my recovery room, marveling at your long wrinkly feet with your dad. Or haplessly attempting to put you in a newborn sleeper gown we brought from home, not daring to try too hard, for fear of breaking you, and eventually giving up, because pulling the gown over your head proved too difficult. All of those brand new parent worries, and now we’re pulling you out of potted plants and baby swings.

This year has flown by, your babyhood dissolving into toddlerhood, daily, and I’ve tried so hard to savor every minute, remember every detail, without accidentally working so hard to remember what just happened that I don’t see what’s happening right now. For instance, right now you are on the floor, squealing at the kitty, spinning around from new toy to new toy, clapping your feet together happily. One new toy is a ride-on thing with a seat that lifts up to put things in. (And a very loud set of sound effects, that have already been dulled by packing tape over the speaker.) You like to put things in, so you’ve been doing that, and then you spin around to a toy that has those pop-up things – push a lever, something pops up and makes a noise. And even now, in writing that, you’ve moved on to playing with the cell phone that came with your riding toy, holding it to your ear, babbling, and then handing it back to your dad, taking turns. It goes. so. fast. Before I had you, people said that, but I had no idea what they really meant until you got here. In a blink, you are one.

At one, you are now crawling — a new development in the last two weeks and still not employed at full capacity, as you find your butt/hand/knee pivot to be a quicker way to maneuver about. You try to pull up, and get up on your knees, but can’t quite get to your feet. You have 6 teeth that we can see, and we keep thinking you’re teething the last week or so, but haven’t yet seen proof. You love to read, and be read to, and you’ve mastered the art of pointing, clapping, and waving. You are working on the “roooooolll it” part of “Pat a Cake,” especially when Grammy S visits.

This month, you attended my master’s hooding, and spent 3 hours happily content in the stands of the Alfond. It took you a minute to recognize me in regalia, after. When I actually finished my degree, you were there, my advisor holding you in her lap in the education lab as I presented my information. And before that, I first felt you kick in the ed lab, my morning sickness was satisfied with bowlfuls of fresh pineapple in the union, and even before that, it was on campus, getting pre-semester stuff taken care of with Uncle Andy, that I had my first inklings of you. I remember telling Andy, walking by the MCA, “I’m about 90% sure I’m feeling the same way I did last time…” I didn’t even want to tell your dad, because our earlier experience had shaken us so, that I didn’t want to get him excited or nervous without proof. But that day, I knew. You’re beginnings are closely tied to my university, and finishing my degree and becoming a mother are two of my proudest accomplishments, two things that have brought me incredible satisfaction and joy.

Today, for your birthday, we didn’t do much. I had to work at a graduation with Grammy and Grampy S, and Grammy G and your local Aunties came and visited while I was gone. Your dad and I got you a wagon, your grandparents got you an ear thermometer and a savings bond (our practical gift-giving is generations old, my bug) and you grammy and aunties brought you some toys and clothes. Even the neighbors brought you a toy, remembering that it was your first birthday. I made cupcakes for you, a spice cake mix and a cream cheese frosting, and you liked the frosting but were a little iffy on the cake. No big parties, no extravagant gifts, but that’s okay.

For a while now, when you feel especially lovey, if you’re facing me, in my lap, you’ll tip your forehead down until it meets mine, and you’ll look over the top of my glasses and into my eyes, and rock your head back and forth, and smile. We call it the forehead kiss, and you don’t just forehead-kiss me, but others as well. It’s such a weird little quirk, so very Ingrid, and I love it. When your grandparents were watching you last week, they said you forehead-kissed a stuffed bunny. Someday, you’re going to learn how to kiss for real, and you’ll probably drop the forehead kiss from your repertoire, but it is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever experienced, to have my daughter’s eyelashes almost touching mine, seeing her grin in my peripheral vision, her eyes sliding closed, contentedly, and then leaning back, having been reset, ready to wiggle off to play with something else, to point at daddy’s hat, to make mama’s hands clap, to lunge for the kitty.

I love you Ingrid. Happy Birthday.

Love, Mama

Hi, yeah…

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I have no idea how long it’s been, but I’m guessing "awhile." Things continue to steam along here, though Ingrid appears to be in the midst of a teething-fueled growth spurt, which has meant wacked nights and wonky days, lots of sleep, looooots of night-nursing, and even some inconsolability. On a lighter note (and I wonder if this is compounding it) she can CRAWL! We were home on Friday (fever) and got up, plonked her down on the rug, and she tipped forward onto her knees and crawled a few paces. She hasn’t yet figured out the power of mobility, and we can really only get her to motor if we dangle cheese (and of course, with dangled cheese comes Kitty) from across the room.

This is also the season of graduations, and as Dave observed "this is going to be what May IS for the rest of our lives, isn’t it? You off every weekend doing graduations while I’m falling further and further behind on yardwork!" And, well, yeah.  I guess so. The one Saturday was the only one I did last year, and the year before that I was still pregnant and ignorant of the miscarriage unfolding inside, and this one was with my sleepy growth-spurty new-crawler at home. Weird.

Friday is my hooding, and then two graduations on Saturday, the same two schools that I did two years ago, when I was miscarrying in a biiiiig way, laying down in the car until justbefore the conferrals… GOD that sucked. ANYWAY, this year should be better… then I have one on Ingrid’s actual birthday, but I figure she won’t know the difference, right? (And we’re not doing a party… I’ve told Dave’s family they can stop by to say Happy Birthday anytime that day, and I’ll probably make cupcakes to offer drop ins, and that’s it. But still, ONE YEAR? How is that even POSSIBLE?

So, that’swhat’s going on here… exhausted from fussy growing baby, keeping the head down until the end of commencements, work is fine (but also busy with commencement stuff) and just sort of keeping on. Yeehaw.

Perfect Weekend

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I’m not sure a better weekend could have been had here. Seriously. The weather? GLORIOUS. The health? GOOD.

The weather turned into an instant spring on Thursday, when I IM’ed dave to let him know that Family Walk was back on. When Ingrid was just born, we did a walk almost every night when Dave got home, and we’d done a few when there was a warmish winter day, but I have so missed the balmy family walk! Thursday, we just went on our usual route. Friday, we went on the double-long route, that swings through the park, and Ingrid got to swing! She’s been once or twice this spring, but more out of desperation than appropriateness… anyway, it was gorgeous, so, swinging!

Saturday, Dave had to work the canoe race, so I put Ingrid on a blanket outside and raked out the front flowerbed (thinking the whole time that I should lure Amity over so she can at least tell me what I have growing! It’s a shame that this house used to win the grand prize of the Bangor Garden Club or whatever – it was a selling point in the house — and now I’m like "well, if it IS a weed, it’s at least kind of pretty.") Ingrid LOVED being outside — she entertained herself for a while by putting things in her block bucket, dumping them out, and putting themback in… then as I was raking, I heard her laughing, and as I was going along, when the big tree gotbetween she and I, she thought I was playing peekaboo, and thought that was great. Seriously. Raking in the yard, with a baby giggling behind me and the sun beaming down? Wow.

Dave got home in the early afternoon, and his sister dropped in, so that was nice to visit with her for a bit. After she left and another nap (I think) Dave was exhausted, so Ingrid and I headed to Brooks and to the park. There are certain families that I got to know on the stroller brigade last year, not know-know, but worthy of a "hello!’ or "fast asleep, huh?" in passing. There are the twins down the street, who I know are three, as I remember their mom pushing them in a double-bucket stroller past our house that first summer. There are the grandparents who take care of the grandkids, a boy and a girl, and hustle around the neighborhood like racewalkers with Jeep jogging strollers. There’s the working mom who is out after 5, with the blonde little boy… anyway, when Ingrid and I were out, I saw the working mom in the distance, leaving her house with a bucket stroller and the little boy, and her husband, but she didn’t get half a block before they turned around and she lugged the bucket into the house and the dad got the little boy into the regular stroller they used all last year.  Once again, I’m soooo glad I found babywearing before I had Ingrid, and that it worked so well for us…

At Brooks, Ingrid waved to everyone, the pharmacists, the cashier, other customers, and squealed in basic happiness. And! They had Mini Eggs on clearance! I thought I’d totally missed the Mini Eggs in the months of sick, so to get them on clearance = double happiness!  From Brooks, we went to the park, and Ingrid swung for a while, and we walked home.

Last night, I worked on updating my local mom site — this spring, my plan is to do reviews of the playgrounds, and so far I have two done. I updated all of my software, installed a spambot-killing mod on the forums, downloaded a new theme for the blog, and set up a flickr map for the flickr account.

Today, I got up and made Sunday pancakes for breakfast, but mixed up a double batch. The first batch were breakfast pancakes for Dave and I, and into the second I added a bunch of shredded zucchini and cheddar cheese, for Ingrid to take to daycare. She eats pancakes there, that they provide, so I figured it’d be a good vehicle to get a little more nutrition into her, and they should freeze well, I hope.

My parents got here around 10:30, and Ingrid and I went with them to the Home Show, while dave worked on the yard. At the home show, I had one mama ask me about my wrap, and doing the babywearing secret handshake ("I had a ring sling, and didn’t learn about wraps until she was really too heavy…" of course, an hour later I saw her carrying her preschooler, anyway!) and I got info on replacement windows. (Aside — I hate baby buckets, we all know this, but I saw one family with a baby Ingrid’s age/size, EASILY, with their baby in the bucket, clipped into the stroller. HELLO, you don’t NEED to use thebucket with the stroller. That almost irritated me more than the general bucket issue does, because the kid was clearly big enough to be able to handle a stroller, at least.)

After a few hours there, we came back here, and my folks went home. We got a sub from the place down the street, and split it, and then walked to the other park, which we realized is probably the closest one to our house, but because it’s across a very busy street, we never go over there. I got some pictures for the website, and we came home, fed the baby, bathed her, and she went to sleep. I made dinner, which was way too much work and effort and mess for what it was, but whatever. Dave did his laundry, I washed most of the dishes, and watched TAR, and here I am. So not ready for work tomorrow. It’s supposed to be 78! SEVENTY EIGHT! Crazy.

Life is good here — I hope it is there, too.

Edited to say, oh, right! There’s a new April album.

Other stuff

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Hey! I got the monthly thing done ON her monthday. That never happens.

ANYWAY. A little blurb about breastfeeding:

Still going strong, here, still pumping, still loving it, no plans to wean.  The longer I nurse, though, the more plugged-in I feel to this secret society of nursing mamas, past and present.  One of Ingrid’s daycare teachers was CLEARLY a big BF’er, but I wonder of a non-nursing mama would pick up on that. It’s little comments — last week, at dropoff, there was A Stink, and she said "oh, it’s not Ingrid, she’s breastfed… that smell must be from a formula baby!" And to Dave, today "Once those big nursing cheeks thin out, she’ll look even MORE like you…" and when I had Ingrid doused in gentian violet for thrush (yeah, I’ve been dealing with itchy nipples, thinking it was from the eczema — remember last year’s cancer scare? — that I couldn’t treat because the ointment for that isn’t safe for nursing babies, and when it got worse with abx, LIGHTBULB! Ingrid’s asymptomatic, and I’m so used to itching… well, everywhere, I was just dealing with it. I may be the first person to ever be EXCITED to have thrush, because it meant I could TREAT it) anyway, the GV didn’t make her flinch at all.  And, there’s a look, I swear, that nursing mamas across the generations exchange.  Of Ingrid’s classmates, (granted, the young toddler room, and Ingrid is almost the youngest, there’s a new one that’s 3 days younger than her…)only 2 of the 12 are getting EBM, and I had totally pegged the other one (coincidentally, the 3days younger one) based on her cheeks. And again, the cheeks thing was pointed out to me by my grad school advisor, when I defended my portfolio with Ingrid in the room, I mentioned her big cheeks (she was 7mos then) and G said "Oh, yeah, those are the big breastmilk cheeks!" Now, I see what she means…

And? I’ve picked up on celebrity nursing habits. Jennifer Garner? Totally doing  the ‘extended nursing’ thing, when you read clips of her interviews at the Celebrity Baby Blog. And Gwen Stefani, whose baby was born around the same time Ingrid was, is still nursing.

I mean, feeding your baby is not a race, or a contest, or whatever. But I am so happy that it’s worked out for us, and it makes me happy when I see others for whom it’s worked out. I’ll be glad to stop pumping, only 42 more sessions, but who’s counting? but I’m in absolutely no rush to wean.

11 months

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Dear Ingrid,

You are 11 months old today?!  I’m not sure how that happened so fast, I say it every month, but really, it’s incredible.

You managed to avoid the flu that felled your dad and I, and when daddy was sick with pneumonia, I got to get you up and off to daycare in the morning. It was nice to see how happy you are when you’re dropped off, and how happy your teachers are to see you. 

We also went to the mountain for the first time with you. The last time I was there, you were just about ripe, and we danced to the Violent Femmes in the base lodge. This time, daddy and I both started to get sick, and we never left — but your Grammy bundled you up and took you on a tour of the base village.

You still aren’t crawling, but you’re moving…. you sit on your bottom and use your heels and knees to pivot around, and now you can pinwheel around the floor to get from one place to another. You can also scoot backwards on your belly, but you don’t really like that, because you REALLY want to be moving TOWARDS something, and your movements just end up putting you farther away. But, while learning about that, you also learned how to get yourself up into a sitting position.

In fact, your daycare teachers saw that move yesterday, 4/18, and wrote it on your daily report, along with the time: 2:52 pm, because they were so excited. They couldn’t wait for me to read it, and couldn’t wait to share, and when I read it, I said "oh, yeah, she did that last night." In retrospect, I feel kind of bad. While one of the cons of being a working mama is that I’m likely to miss some firsts, I think that your teachers might be excited to see your firsts, too. They take such good care of you, and genuinely adore you. (In fact, I’ll probably laugh about this one day, but my main concern these days about daycare is that I worry that they love you too MUCH, which is right on par with my worry that you had some dread disease that had Excessive Smiling as a symptom…)

You are feeding yourself, mostly, these days. You love frozen blueberries, and your veggie puffs, and the new one is cheese… when I pull cheese from the fridge, you start kicking your legs and breathing fast, and the cat magically appears next to your highchair. You also like peas, gardenburger, peaches and pears, pancakes, crackers, and yogurt.

Today was the first beautiful spring day of the season. Yes, it was pretty late, but it was worth it. When Daddy came home, we pulled out your stroller (it’d been months since it’d been used!) and we did our standard neighborhood route. You were comfy in your stroller, and we saw a few neighbors. It was just so nice to be smelling the fresh air, spotting a flower blooming in the yard, and walking with you, so much bigger than your first walk, almost a year ago.  And next month, you’ll be ONE. I don’t know how that happened.

Dscn2261

I Love you Ingrid!

Love, Mama

Easy Politics

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One of the things that the internet makes easy, is notifying your elected officials of your stand on something.  See, today I’m mighty uncomfortable, since the Supreme Court has decided to camp out in my vagina. That’s not cool.

There is a movement afoot to change this, and the easiest thing you can do is go to this website:

http://prochoiceaction.org/campaign/congress_foca_0407

fill in your info, and click submit. It generates letters to your congress people stating your support of the Freedom of Choice Act.  Please, if you are pro-choice, click that link, send a letter, at the very least. As a woman, and the mother of a future woman, this step against choice by the Supreme Court has me terrified.

Filler

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OMG, it’s been a while, involving pneumonia flattening Dave, MID APRIL SNOW, and fun with gentian violet… haven’t even taken many pictures yet. Anyway, bizarrogirl had this, and it seemed like a good way to make sure my typepad account was still working. (also, you don’t *have* to post it in your own journal, if you don’t want…I’m not much of a rules stickler.)

Comment and I’ll:

   1. Tell you why I friended you.
   2. Associate you with something fandom, a song, a colour, a photo, a sexual position, etc. (Or, not)
   3. Tell you something I like about you.
   4. Tell you a memory I have of you.
   5. Associate you with a character/pairing.
   6. Ask something I’ve always wanted to know about you.
   7. Tell you my favorite user pic of yours.
   8. In return, you must post this in your LJ.

Just Stuff

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Sinus Infection getting me down, man. Ugh. And I finally called my doctor to get it looked at, found out my doctor doesn’t practice there, and was annoyed from start to finish, which just reaffirms my decision to switch practices. (I’m in the midst of doing that, but I neeeeded to see someone since every time I blew my nose — a lot — it felt like my eyes and teeth might pop out.)  Now it’s moved a bit lower, with a dry cough. Ugh.

Aside from that, things are going well. Work is going well, I’m kind of surprised at how easy a transition it’s been… I’m still pumping 2x a day, because the mythical year mark is SO CLOSE (scarily close) but I will be soooo glad to wean from the pump.  Weaning Ingrid isn’t in the plans, though, as we all really dig the nursing thing still, and as long as all of us are digging it, then we’ll keep on keeping on. I can’t believe she’s going to be a year in 7 weeks. OMFG.

Daycare is going well for her … she’s still not crawling, but she goes to her belly on her own more and more, and kind of scoots backward (um, angrily) so I’m not really concerned, but as she’s the only immoble baby in her room, I think she’ll have more fun joining in than watching. My parents visited her there yesterday, and my mom said that she thinks she gets held a lot, which… awesome. I have no problems with that. Her caregivers love her to pieces, it’s obvious.  I joke that daycare is a better mom than I am, for lots of reasons… like, at daycare Ingrid will never end up watching yet another Sylvia Browne episode of Montel, and at daycare, if Ingrid gags on table food, there’s a fleet of First Aid/CPR trained adults to save her.

Tomorrow we’re going to the mountain — my mom’s birthday was yesterday, and we have reservations at a place for dinner, and I’ve called ahead and given them my CC # to pick up the tab in a discreet way. (And yes, I’m sort of skeeved by leaving my CC#, but it was the only way I could do it the way I wanted to, and I used our actual CC so that if some pissed off hostess steals it, at least it’s not accessing our credit union accounts directly.)  That should be fun. I wonder if I’ll be able to taste anything by tomorrow night.

Speaking of taste, my cookbook arrived, and we had Real Dinner all week. Not at the table, yet, or with Ingrid, yet, but it felt good to be eating Real Dinner and not Convenience Dinner.   Our new television has shipped (did I mention?) I solved the "I want a very expensive modern credenza" issue by just buying a new tv. Not anything fancy, not flat screen, not HD, but a bigger, digital tube tv with speakers that work, so we don’t have to do the tv through stereo necessitating wobbly speaker stands thing anymore.  Plus, it’s digital, which means we’ve added a channel to our cable-free lineup. (The CW, of course. heh.)

Also, one day this week, Ingrid and I were on the couch after her first nurse of the evening, and she was laying on her back on my chest, and kept whipping her head to the side so I would smooch her cheeks. It tickled, or something, she loved it, and was giggling hysterically. She just kept smashing herself into my lips, and it was such an absolutely perfect moment, that I totally cried. I love her so much. I can’t believe she’s almost one.  Where does the time go? Seriously?

10 Months

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Dear Ingrid,

You are 10 months old! I don’t know how that happened, each month sneaks up on me and races by, and I’m in a constant state of amazement whenever I look at you.

This month, books continued to enthrall you. You have a bin full of board books under our coffee table, and a bin full of toys, and you consistently go for the books first. You especially love books with flaps, and you open each one on each page. We’ve even had to repair your very favorite book, "Where is baby’s belly button?" because you got a little too eager with "Behind the Cup!"  You’ve discovered a haunted house board book that daddy got you at halloween, where each page has many, many flaps, and you like that one second best. And in some books, you get annoyed when a picture of a door doesn’t  turn out to be a flap. 

When we read to you, and there’s a cat in the book, you look for our cat. "Bear at Home" has a black and white kitty on each page, and when we say "where’s the kitty?" you look for FatKitty, and when we say "where’s the kitty in the book?" you point at the one on the page. It really blows our mind, how fast your brain is growing.

You started to wave this month, and in the car on our way to Portland, I could see you, seeing me, between our mirrors (vanity & carseat) and if I waved, you’d wave back.

You’ve been teething and still have a cough, and a fever had you home from daycare for a few days. I spent the first day with you, and Daddy spent the second, and it was your first day all alone with Daddy, ever. You both had a good time — while you’re sort of a crankenmonster with the teeth, you do well with distraction, and your trip with Daddy to the grocery store garnered lots of comments, I hear. You also went to the park for a (very windy) first swing of the year.

Your daycare teachers continue to comment on your sparkling personality, how you love books (there, too!) and love to dance. You love to eat your puffs, and you loooooove avocado, and now, bits of string cheese. When mama gets a string cheese from the fridge, you and the cat both vibrate with excitement. You also had your first ever Scholastic Book Club order form, which mama dutifully filled out and returned, of course.

You’re still not interested in crawling, something about looking at the floor being the most boring, awful form of torture, ever. But you pivot with ease now, and have a reach my former yoga instructor would revel in in terms of flexibility. You can dig your heels in and pull the bins out from the coffee table (Must! GET! BOOKS!) and if we stand you against a table (or, at daycare against the mirror) you will happily balance there (with supervision) for a while.  While you’re not into attempting to crawl, you are into attempting to levitate, and when you want to be Someplace Else, you will wave your little arms in the air and kick your feet, just hoping to fly to your next destination. 

You are growing so fast, your cheeks are starting to deflate and thin out, your body is starting to become more proportionate, and your brain is clearly growing at a rapid pace. I now understand why people are so fond of babies, because babyhood is such a flash, it’s like watching a train race by, trying to read the details on each boxcar. Just as you’ve read one, two have passed, and it’s impossible to keep up. Babies turn so quickly to toddlers, and then to kids, and this time is so sweet and fast, that everyone wants to try to catch a glimpse.

I’m so lucky to have so many glimpses, each day.

I love you, Ingrid.

Love, Mama